Ripped Tights and Late Nights → Muke

eight;

this continues on from last chapter

there's a teeny bit of smut at the end that leads into the next chapter so there isn't a smut warning on this chap but there is a little prep. (:

please comment and give feedback!

::

"And I swear to God, Jake, if you come home smelling like weed, you're grounded for the rest of your life."

"I'm fourteen!" Jake retorts through the open window of the passenger seat. "What do you think we do, drugs and sex? All I want is a strawberry milkshake and a dog, God."

"Text me later," Michael says, ignoring his son's sarcasm. Between him and Brittany, Michael couldn't even tell when they were being sarcastic or not. "I'll pick you up whenever. Love you."

"You're lame," he says, walking away from the car and knocking on the front door of his friend Cameron's house.

Michael smiles at Jake before looking over into the backseat where Luke's sitting. He lost the seating argument with Jake before they left, meaning he sat by himself and pouted for the entire drive. Michael motions with his head for Luke to get into the front seat. He does as told, forever obedient, clambering over the centre console in such an ungraceful manner it almost makes Michael laugh. Luke's supposed to be some elegant dancer except Michael knows that when he's not dancing, he's about as graceful as a giraffe with one leg.

"Your son and I are one," Luke starts as Michael pulls out onto the road, beginning the journey home. He wasn't going to spend the night at the house alone and he was hoping Luke wouldn't mind spending the night with him. "We both think you're lame."

"Lame, huh?" Michael asks, fairly rhetorical. He knows he's getting old and that he's not as cool as he used to be, but whether he's cool doesn't mean he isn't a great father. Or an even greater fuck.

"The lamest. Do you even know who Siri is? Kim Kardashian? Do you play bingo every Friday night at the retirement home?"

"I'm thirty-five Luke, that doesn't mean I don't keep up-to-date with fucking pop culture."

"Maybe you're losing your touch, that didn't even get me hard," Luke teases. He sighs dramatically, looking out the window.

"Don't think that I haven't forgotten about your spanking tonight, baby boy. As soon as we get home I'm bending you over the nearest table and spanking you raw. I'll fuck you in every room in the house before midnight. Don't fucking test me."

"Ooooh, daddy's getting mad."

Michael keeps his eyes on the road as he removes one of his hand from the steering wheel, resting it on Luke's knee. He starts stroking up towards Luke's dick, not daring to breathe. The last thing he wants to do is overstep his boundaries but God, he wants this. His hand stays there, heavy and solid without moving.

"Like I said, Luke. Don't fucking test me."

Luke is silent the whole drive home which Michael is only slightly concerned about. Luke is usually quiet but Michael loves the sound of his voice. Loves how smooth and deep it is, loves his moans and whimpers. He loves his talking voice and his fuck-me-now voice and his fucked out voice.

When they pull up in the driveway, Michael sees that Leah must've left the porch light on before they left as the entire front of the house is illuminated by a yellow glow. It's little things like that which set off the atomic bomb of guilt in Michael. She knows him inside out, knows that coming home to a dark house would set him off and he wouldn't be able to sleep for fear of the monsters in the dark.